


Grande Pirouette Renversée

by greedy_dancer



Series: Tumblr & Twitter ficlets [18]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dance, Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M, Mostly Pwp, Not a Sexuality Crisis, So much as a Sexual Awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 16:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18720550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greedy_dancer/pseuds/greedy_dancer
Summary: “Jesus, Alice, I’ve been hanging out in dressing rooms with naked guys since I was, um, 7 years old. You don’t think I would know by now?”Q takes a deep drag of his cigarette, jumping from one foot to the other lightly to try and keep his muscles warm despite the cold air on the rooftop.“That’s actually a very common misconception,” Alice says, because of course she does. She doesn’t seem cold at all, bundled up as she is in her giant coat and scarf. “But sexuality is fluid, Q. Just because you were never attracted to guys before doesn’t mean you can’t be attracted to guys now. Or, like, to one guy, I suppose.”Q thought he was straight, until Eliot. (Oh, and they're all dancers.)





	Grande Pirouette Renversée

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goseaward](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goseaward/gifts).



> Originally posted on Tumblr, for @goseaward's prompt: _“Quentin/Eliot as dancers, Q has always thought he’s straight then Eliot…”_
> 
> Thanks for precipitating the dancers AU I was inevitably going to write at some point! :p

“Jesus, Alice, I’ve been hanging out in dressing rooms with naked guys since I was, um, 7 years old. You don’t think I would _know_ by now?”

Q takes a deep drag of his cigarette, jumping from one foot to the other lightly to try and keep his muscles warm despite the cold air on the rooftop.

“That’s actually a very common misconception,” Alice says, because of course she does. She doesn’t seem cold at all, bundled up as she is in her giant coat and scarf. “But sexuality is fluid, Q. Just because you were never attracted to guys before doesn’t mean you can’t be attracted to guys now. Or, like, to one guy, I suppose.”

He sighs. Alice waves the smoke away from her with a disapproving frown.

Q stubs out his cigarette onto the wall and puts the unsmoked half back into the pack. Their break is probably almost over, they have to get back down to the studio. “I just feel way too old to be having a sexuality crisis,” he mutters.

“Well, first of all, no you’re not,” she counters. “And second, it doesn’t have to be a crisis. It can be like, a sexuality awakening, or just, I don’t know, an exception. It doesn’t have to– This could just be a good thing, a new thing, if you stop being such a _Q_ about it.”

“Hey!” he exclaims, but her eyes are fond when he looks up at her. Fuck, Q loves Alice, he really does, but he wishes she weren’t always so _right_ about everything.

*

“See you at the bar, Q!” Eliot calls as he leaves, Margo tucked under his arm. It isn’t a question - it doesn’t need to be a question, because of course Q will be there, just like he’s been there after every single rehearsal since the beginning of this crazy project that’s brought both their companies together.

It makes no sense, on paper. A contemporary dance/puppetry/theatre company and a ballet company in the same show, that’s just not how you do things. (What you do is, you take the classically trained ballet dancers, the Eliots and the Margos of the world, and you teach them how to do the other stuff, the stuff that regular people have been training their whole lives for, and then they do it perfectly because life’s unfair like that.)

But apparently Mayakovski had insisted, and Fogg must have seen the potential, and they were right - it’s becoming clearer and clearer with every new rehearsal that it _does_ work.

It’s hard not to see the parallels with Quentin’s own situation.

Eliot had taken to him instantly, for some reason Q couldn’t fathom - Eliot, who was clearly the king of his group, who was tall and lean and handsome and naturally graceful and everything that Q wasn’t despite working so hard at it; Eliot, who made Q feel, more than ever, like he was out of place and didn’t quite belong.

But when they moved together, it just _made sense,_ in a way that took so much effort when Q was partnered with someone else, even Alice, who he’d been working with for years and years now.

And Eliot, who’d seemed so haughty and unapproachable at first, had opened up to Q like it was nothing. He’d shared his own struggles and offered up his advice and his praise, and Q had drunk it all in, and one day he’d been looking at Eliot’s red, sweaty face across the studio, and Eliot had caught his eyes and smiled at him instantly and waved across the room, like he was so happy to see Q looking at him, and Q had smiled back before he could even tell he was doing it and he’d felt so pleased and bright and warm and like he wanted to– _Ooh._

“So, are finally you going to talk to him?” Alice asks, making Q jump.

“I don’t know, Alice,” Q says. “What if I’m reading this all wrong?” He doesn’t think he could keep dancing with Eliot every day if he put himself out there and Eliot shot him down.

“Oh, Quentin,” she says. “How can someone so smart be so wrong so much of the time.”

 _Yeah, my point exactly,_ Q wants to say, but then she’s grabbing his arm and pulling him out the door in the direction of the bar.

*

“Wait, Eliot, before we– I don’t know if I’m– I mean, I’ve never–,” Q stutters out, much, much later, against Eliot’s lips. He’d drunk enough that he’d had the balls to ask Eliot up, and then to kiss him, soft and awkward, and Eliot had looked at him with surprise and delight and kissed him back, steady and sure.

Now they’ve been kissing so long that he’s sobered up, and his mouth feels swollen, raw, and the skin all around it tingles from Eliot’s stubble. It feels fucking amazing. Q would like nothing more than to shut off his brain and keep being kissed by Eliot like this, possibly forever, but _._

“That’s okay,” Eliot says. His hands run through Q’s hair again, nails raking against his scalp, making him shiver all over. He’s pressed up against Q, caging him in against the wall of Q’s tiny apartment. Q has to stand in _relevé_ to reach him properly. He will probably regret it tomorrow when his calves cramp up, but right now…

“It’s just… All this time I thought I was straight,” Q’s confesses.

Eliot takes a step back. His mouth looks swollen, too. He’s breathing hard. Good, Q thinks.

“Q. Are you enjoying this?” Eliot asks, eyes intent, voice kind.

Q nods. ‘Enjoying’ feels like an understatement.

“Do you want to stop?”

Q shakes his head frantically. “Fuck, no, please.”

Eliot’s eyes darken at that, and he steps back into Q’s space. He leans down a little, brushes his lips against Q’s ear.

“How are you feeling? Are you hard?”

Another shiver runs down Q’s spine. Fuck, he is _so_ hard, it feels a little like he might come before Eliot ever actually touches him. He wraps his arms around Eliot’s torso and cants his hips forward, pushing his cock into Eliot’s thigh, trying to show him what he can’t tell him.

“Oh yeah you are, aren’t you,” Eliot whispers. “You are so hard for me, baby, and I’m going to make you feel so fucking good. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.”

Q whimpers at that, a high, needy sound he’s never heard himself make before.

“Fuck, Q, listen to yourself,” Eliot says, and then he’s kissing him again, engulfing Q into his arms, taking him over, pushing his leg between Q’s thighs and almost lifting him off of the ground, and Q wants nothing more than to let Eliot carry his weight, to surrender to him, to let Eliot kiss him and touch him and hold him and give him all the things Q never even knew he wanted, before Eliot.

*

“Are you sure,” Eliot asks, a little while later, when they’re both naked on top of Q’s covers. “It’s okay if this is more than you signed up for.”

“Shut up, I’m sure,” Q says, even though somewhere in his brain, a voice is still screaming 'If you do this you can never call yourself straight again!'

It’s a very small part, though, and it’s sounding further and further away with each second that he’s looking at Eliot’s dick and fucking _salivating_.

“You don’t have anything to prov– Oh, okay, alright, fuck!”

Eliot stops making sentences then, when Q puts his mouth on him - on Eliot’s dick, and fuck, this is it, Q’s got a dick in his mouth and he’s fucking– he’s loving it, because it’s making Eliot sound like this, raw and uncontrolled and real, like Q doing this is stripping all his carefully cultivated layers, like maybe Q is making Eliot feel as out of control as Eliot’s made him feel, ever since the first time he opened his mouth and said Q’s name.

He tries to fit as much as he can into his mouth but it’s not that easy; Eliot’s fucking _big_. Q knew it intellectually (you don’t dance with someone for weeks without finding this kind of thing out) but now he _knows_ it, he’s learning it with his hands and his lips and his tongue.

“Don’t try to–” Eliot starts, and Q lets him go and, feeling bold, says: “Yeah, teach me how to suck you, El.”

Eliot groans. His dick jerks, leaving a wet trail on his stomach.

“I knew you were going to fucking kill me,” he says. “Okay, come on then.”

He talks Q through it, and it’s the hottest thing Q’s ever experienced – Eliot’s voice, low and rough, getting breathier and breathier as he guides Q step by step – “Use your saliva, make it wet,” and “Move your hand, tighter, yeah, like that, oh god, just like that, keep doing that,” and Q shuts his brain off and follows along, blissfully, listening to the music of Eliot’s voice and just moving, just like dancing, until Eliot suddenly tenses and says “Oh god, don’t, don’t, you’ll make me come,” and Q does it anyway, pushes down with his finger right _there_ , and Eliot’s whole body jerks, uncoordinated and graceless for the first time, and he shoots right into Q’s mouth with a long moan.

“Mmpf,” Q says, vaguely panicked. He thought he wanted to swallow when Eliot came but now he’s not so sure.

Eliot is there in a flash, though, hand extended in front of Q’s mouth, laughing a little. “I know right? Spit it out, it’s okay,” and Q does gratefully, his face burning. Eliot looks around for a second and then wipes off his hand onto his discarded tshirt with a shrug.

“You okay?” he checks.

Q nods fervently. “Fuck, yeah. That was, uh. Fucking amazing, El. Thank you.” He can taste Eliot with each word he says. Licking his lips makes him shiver.

Eliot shakes his head incredulously. “You’re incredible,” he says. “Come here, this was supposed to be about you and I haven’t even done anything for you yet.”

‘You have,’ Q wants to say, but Eliot is pulling Q across his lap, and Q goes eagerly, straddling Eliot’s legs. He bends down to kiss him, and Eliot surges up to meet him, putting one hand around Q’s neck and the other on Q’s dick – oh yeah, he’s still hard, he’d almost forgotten about it, he’d been so focused on Eliot – and he strokes him hard and fast and just _right,_ and it takes no time at all for Q to come, spraying Eliot’s chest, rocking and whining through it, making Eliot fall backwards onto the bed when he collapses against him, spent and breathless and fucking ecstatic.

*

“So,” Eliot says a while later, as he’s tracing idle patterns up and down Q’s arm. Q’s lying with his head on Eliot’s chest, their legs intertwined. They should really be asleep – Mayakovski and Fogg will tear them new ones if they can’t keep up tomorrow – but Q’s brain is fighting sleep even as his eyes are closing inexorably. He doesn’t want this to end.

“Hm?”

“You still worried you’re straight?” It sounds light, like it could be a joke, but Q knows it’s not from the careful way Eliot’s still touching him.

He thinks about it.

“I don't know. I don’t feel any different,” he says truthfully.

Eliot hums.

“Maybe I was never actually really straight,” he sighs. “Or maybe Alice is right and it just doesn’t matter.”

He shuffles against Eliot, drawing the sheet up over them both and settling into a more comfortable position. He can feel himself losing the fight against sleep. He hopes Eliot’s set an alarm. He hopes Eliot wants to do this again.

“Alice the wise,” Eliot murmurs, and Q nods, and then he’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://greedydancer.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/greedydancer)


End file.
